


Nightcrawler

by stalksoftly



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: A songfic by some definition, Body Horror, Bugs & Insects, M/M, Manic Episode, Psychosis, Trees, forest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 10:17:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11895630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stalksoftly/pseuds/stalksoftly
Summary: Josh decides to build a house one day.It makes sense.





	Nightcrawler

**Author's Note:**

> _"Nature is Satan's church."_ \- Antichrist (2009)

Josh decides to build a house one day. 

It makes sense. 

Josh has a friend who owns a few acres. At their age, in this economy, it's rare, but not unheard of. 

Josh overhears the information at a party, as he's lingering on the sidelines with a warm beer in his hand. 

It's the first party he's been to in a while. 

"Hey, Mark?" he says carefully, not used to inserting himself into conversations that don't concern him. Tonight, though, it concerns him. He knows it does. 

“What's up?” Mark asks, pointing his question with a puff from his cigarette. 

Josh's face peers through the cloud of smoke. 

“What were you saying before? About the woods?”

"My dad left me a few acres in the woods. I've really got no use for them, since my job's more city-based."

"That's so interesting," Josh says, wide-eyed. 

"Yeah," Mark says, sipping his cold beer nonchalantly. He doesn't really get what Josh is getting at. 

“Like, that's wild,” Josh continues.

Mark and the pretty girl he's been chatting with- they eye him curiously. Josh hasn't really come out of his shell often, at least not in their presence. 

The gears inside him are turning, though, that much they can tell. 

They can tell the way he grips his beer, resolute. They can tell by the smile cracking his face. They can tell by the way he shifts from toe to toe. 

"Hey Mark," he goes on, rocking his own little boat. "If you don't have a use for the land, I might…" 

The conversation goes on, spilling into the daylight. 

By the time half the party is gone, Mark has fully complied. 

It's not hard to comply, really, as he's coming down from his his buzz from the hot, bustling house party and beer. 

All Mark wants to do is go home and he doesn't care about his little corner in the woods. The pretty girl has long since drifted, and it's just Josh, still clutching his same flat beer, going on and on about the untamed land Mark inherited from his late father. 

It's ripe with possibility and he's hanging onto the apparent opportunity Mark has handed him. 

So, Mark complies. 

And Josh tears his face apart into a grin, sloshing the warm brew in the bottle in his hand. 

"Mark, you're the best friend a guy could have," he gushes, pulling Mark into a firm, one-armed embrace. 

Mark almost wants to nestle himself into Josh's neck and drift to sleep, but, if anything, the sudden contact from his usually timid friend jolts him awake.

Instead, he grumbles, "Don't mention it." 

Instead, he worms his way away from Josh and pulls his phone out of his pocket. 

"Jesus," he says, pulling a hand over his face. "5:48am. Want to share an uber?" 

"Sure thing," Josh beams. 

\-- 

Josh decides to build a house. He wastes no time in making his dreams come true. 

Mark is the one to take him there. 

They turn into a road that's all dirt and winding roots, more hiking trail than a road meant for driving. 

Josh chatters about his plans. Mark taps the ash of a joint out the window and drives carefully. He can hardly focus on Josh's stream of ideas and blames it on the pot.

"You know how the city gets me down, yeah? And I think there's something beautiful about taking control of your own destiny and building something with your own hands. Maybe this is the project I needed all along. Maybe it'd do me some good to get away from all the smog and mold in my old apartment." 

Mark tries to express his concerns while Josh takes a swig of water, the word spill temporary dammed by the physical obstruction rather than his own will.

"That's cool and dude, I love it when you get creative, but have you ever built-" 

Josh plows over him, needing to get his ideas out, out, out. 

"I mean, we all build houses in everything we do, if you think about it. We dream, we sketch, we get to work. We start with foundations, the fundamentals, then work on walls and finally add the little cherry on top- a pretty roof." 

While Mark gives him a sleepy gaze, Josh pats the rucksack between his knees firmly. 

"And I've been doing a lot of sketching. You know how I'm really creative, yeah? And I can do anything if I put my mind to it." 

Mark gives a smile, his mind too muddled to form an argument against Josh. 

"Yeah, man," he says, turning off the path to a small clearing at the edge of the woods, a fine enough parking spot. "And now that we're here, you can put that creativity to use." 

Josh nods and smiles and quickly pulls Mark into a bone-crushing hug. He feels the warmth pour out of him, a manifestation of his affection, and he's sure Mark can feel it too. 

"Thanks so much, dude," he says, too loudly, too close to Mark's ear. Mark shrinks in his arms. "You're the best bud a bro could have." 

Finally, he releases him, opens the door and hoists his backpack from under the passenger seat. 

Mark, still in his haze, nods, smiles, waves. 

"Anything for you," he says, rolling his fingers in a lazy wave. "And be safe out there. Don't hesitate to call if you need anything!" 

Josh doesn't really care to hear or heed the warning so he doesn't. The door's already slammed shut and he's already marching into the clearing, bulldozing any underbrush in his path with his boots. 

Mark, despite his haze, is still a caring friend, so he idles, waits, hotboxes himself inside the car just in case. Josh looks and feels better than he has in months, but he still can't help but wait, just in case he decides to change his mind. 

Fifteen minutes pass and Josh's form disappears. It doesn't return. 

Eventually, Mark leaves. 

\--

The warmth of the sun creates a sticky biome under the canopy of trees. Josh doesn't really take note, stomping on and on, smashing twigs like bones under his boots. He whistles the same tune again and again, his thoughts swirling and branching out in his mind with every step he takes.

He needs to find the perfect spot before sundown. The perfect spot for his foundation, for him to get to building. 

He whistles away the birds and shoos off the squirrels with his rough hiking. Josh doesn't notice. 

He thinks about a rustic, wooden house with clapping shutters, a cozy hearth. He thinks about making music right in Mother Nature's heart. He thinks about inviting Mark and all his friends. They'll become Josh's friends too. It makes sense. He'd been shy and withdrawn in the past, but spring thawed him out. Josh can truly be himself now and people will like him when he opens himself up, lets them read his pages. He's open now.

Josh will be happy and Josh is happy now, not bothered by the burning in his lungs or the sweat trickling into his eyes. He marches on the blisters forming on his feet. He marches until his mouth becomes so dry he can't whistle anymore. 

He takes a break to sip water and inspect his feet. 

After so many months of lethargy, it's no surprise that his body can't keep up with his sudden zest. He shrugs to himself. 

"I'll get stronger," he says aloud to no one. "I'll build the house and re-build myself." He really likes the sound of that. 

He thinks the thought probably slipped into his mind by way of something greater than himself. He smiles. 

After picking open the little fluid-filled pillows lining his toes, he feels better. Josh laces his shoes and gets back to marching. 

"I won't find the right spot," he says after another hour of hiking, humming, thinking. "It'll have to find me. That's how it works."

Jokingly, he adds, "Hello?" to no one in particular. The forest remains still, save for the soft brush of a breeze over his cheeks. "I can feel your breath." 

No one replies. Even the birds are silent. 

Josh shrugs and skips on. He trusts he'll find what he needs. He trusts it will be shown to him. 

–

As the light seeping in from the dense canopy becomes golden, the perfect spot shows itself to Josh. 

For all his vigor, for all his confidence and desire to march on, his body can't quite keep up and his steps becomes sloppier and his route into the forest hasn't exactly been cleared for hikers, no matter how zealous. 

Josh stamps and stamps on, ignorant of the emptiness in his stomach and the burning inside his socks, and veers too close to the edge of a pile of dry rot and rocks. 

While he's caught in his bright kaleidoscope of ideas, his foot breaks through a weak spot in the terrain and he slips. 

He cries out and no one hears him. He cries out and no one reaches out to catch him. He skids and rolls down the small ledge of rocks and rot and young spring floors, until he hits a clearing at the bottom. 

“Nngh,” Josh groans, huffing and blowing sand with his nostrils. 

He picks up his hand and finds the palm scuffed and bloody. He pushes himself up to inspect himself and finds his knee on the same side skinned, but the rest of his body is in good shape. 

Josh doesn't pay attention to all the pain shooting through his wounds, though. His eyes land on the scene around him and he feels his chest tighten. 

He's found the spot. The spot's found him. 

The trees in the area are less dense and instead, there are little islands of moss between pools of spring water. These are lined with rocks and Josh momentarily closes his eyes to take in the quite gurgle of a stream trickling between them. 

When he opens them again, the scene seems even more mesmerizing, with the drizzle of bright spring flowers all around and the soft, white puffs of pollination drifting around the shoots of light cutting in from above. 

Josh spares no time. He climbs to his feet, ignoring the protest in his bones, and slides off his pack. 

He retrieves a notebook, hastily crammed in one of the pockets, and glances over his sketches. 

“Perfect,” he breathes, ignoring the blood seeping into the bottom of the page. “10' by 10'. Alright. Perfect.” 

He steps from toe to heel in a straight line, minding his balance, directly into the sand all around him. He doesn't wonder about the sand, instead choosing to focus on its utility, the way his footprints leave behind a perfect blueprint for his project. 

Josh counts under his breath and turns the corner, stepping another line into the sand. He counts again, turns again, so on, until there's an even square marked in the space. 

“Thank you so much,” Josh says to no one in particular and clasps his hands together. His right palm stings, but he chooses to smile anyway.

With the light around him becoming more orange than golden, he knows he has to get to work on his camp. He'll be here a while to work on the house, he knows this, and no matter how much his hands itch to get started, he tries to organize his mind first. 

He tries to stretch out his tarp into a makeshift roof first, but he gets distracted by his sleeping bag. While he's nestling it into a softer pile of sand, he gets distracted by the rumble in his stomach. He eats, but can't focus on the trail mix in his mouth. It's too salty, too strong, and feels dry on his tongue. Josh sketches more while eating and washes down the half-chewed paste of nuts with some water. 

The sun sets slowly, but everything is much faster in Josh's head. By some miracle, with the smattering of camping gear fanned out around him, he manages to set up his base, with a small makeshift fire pit in the middle. 

The evening is cool, but when Josh finally pulls his boots off and plants his socked feet in the sand, they burn. The ground feels like it's hiding a layer of coals beneath it. As Josh grimaces and pads over to his sleeping bag, he recalls old high school geology lessons of the earth's hot core. 

Smiling at no one, he pats himself on the back for his excellent memory. His mediocre grades were undeserved, he thinks as he's plopping down in his primitive bed, and he wishes his teachers would have gotten to know him better. 

Murmuring to himself, he says, “I was misunderstood,” and pulls off a sock. The cotton gets stuck to a blister. With the dark settling in so fast, Josh can't see the damage. 

But he's brave, so he yanks the sock off his foot in one swift motion, tearing fabric straight out of the open sores and making them weep again. 

“God,” he whispers to himself. He runs the pad of his thumb over heels, toes, insteps. “The ground must've been so hot.” His mind floods with images of heat, hot, campfires, fireplaces in the winter at the Dun family house, powerpoint slides of the earth's core, burning bushes and biblical tales. 

To anyone else, the flood of information would be confusing, nonsensical, hectic. But the fragments all fall into place for Josh; he feels comforted by the way everything in his life, likely the lives of every human, is somehow linked together, like an intricate, beautiful puzzle. If anything, the web of ideas spinning itself in his mind warms Josh and he chooses not to light the campfire tonight. 

He blindly massages ointment into his feet and finally tucks himself into his half-open sleeping bag. 

The thoughts don't die down; the images and ideas spin and spin in his mind and he can't settle comfortably. The woods around him are pitch black now, his body craves sleep and yet he tosses, turns, and listens the nocturnal animals come to life. 

Owls hooting and rustling bushes, none of it scares Josh. He thinks of raccoons and possums, he thinks of their role in the ecosystem, another beautiful web, he thinks of the house he'll build right in the heart of it all, he thinks of the beauty in nature, he thinks of the beauty in his life, he thinks of God's light.

Josh thinks and thinks and thinks well into the night before his body finally wins the fight and he dozes off. 

–

Josh dreams of the forest. He dreams of the pink fading light, of the calm ethereal glow of dusk settling in between the trees. He's stepping over the fairy puddles onto soft, moss islands. They're cool and pleasant on the bottoms of his feet. 

He kneels down to press his nose into a bush of spring flowers. 

He expects a sweet perfume.

The actual scent nearly knocks him back onto his haunches. 

Carefully, he sniffs again, just to be sure. 

A wave of bile rushes up his throat. He shivers. 

Rot. Decaying flesh, that's the only way he can describe it. A beautiful smattering of poppies before him, and they smell like soured blood. 

Josh doesn't like the contrast, the disconnect. 

He blinks awake.

\--

Josh rises with the sun. 

His dreams fade quickly as fresher, newer thoughts come rushing in.

As he's jumping out of his sleeping bag, he thinks back on the days he stayed in bed well past midday and shakes his head. He can't understand his former self, how lying idly in place for hours could have seemed even the slightest bit more interesting than seizing the day. 

Unfortunately, his body still hasn't fully recovered from his overzealous hike and the tumble that followed. 

He winces as he steps in sand, as it coats the bottoms of his feet. He becomes acutely aware of the throbbing in his knee and his palm. Carefully, with a limp that feels like a shackle, considering all the day's planned activities swirling around in his brain, Josh drags his body over to one of the ponds. 

Josh crosses his legs and leans forward to dip his scabbed palm into the cool, clear water. While it soaks, he inspects his feet. He brushes off most of the sand, thinking of beaches and family vacations, his loving mother's apple pies that taste like sugary sand and never stops to question the presence of sand in the forest in the first place. 

Instead, he brushes it away and carefully pinches a loose strip of skin between thumb and forefinger. In one quick motion, he peels away the skin, revealing brighter, pinker skin beneath. 

When Josh looks at his palm in the crystal clear water, his heart leaps into his throat. Dark little slugs have latched themselves to the wound, leeches apparently drawn in by sudden taste of iron in their territory.

He tears his hand from the water, snapping his wrist towards the dirt again and again, trying in vain to shake them off. Josh cries out curses and shudders and protests, but the leeches won't come off. 

He focuses on deep breathing and stops his frantic motions. The leeches won't come off, he realizes, because they were never there to begin with. 

–

Josh has work to do if he's going to build a house, and despite his minor injuries, he patches himself up and gets to it immediately. 

Despite his lack of expertise of working with his hands, Josh has a well of knowledge he scoured from the internet. 

The first thing his house will need is a foundation. Concrete isn't an option, he knows this, but he flips through the other ideas he read online. They come to him easily, quickly, sometimes stuttering one over the other. Josh doesn't mind though, preferring this to his past years of sluggishness and slow recall. 

Josh opts for beams and mud. He sees layouts, schematics and YouTube tutorials playing out in his mind's eye. He trusts the accuracy of his memory fully.

With an impulsively purchased axe dangling from the belt loop of his jeans, Josh stomps out into the woods surrounding his camp site again. Wood is in abundance here, but he doesn't want to make a noticeable dent in the trees just around his house.

He picks a tree, unaware of its species or age, and clumsily swings his axe into it. He tries to yank it out again, but it sticks. Josh plants a foot above it and yanks harder, finally freeing it. 

It takes a couple of tries, but he starts to find the right rhythm and pressure. 

Josh ignores the rumbling in his stomach, the buzzing flies lingering around his brow to drink up sweat. Instead, he focuses on the grounding sting in his raw palm and the buzzing thoughts in his mind urging him to go harder, faster, that he must be Paul Bunyan incarnate, that he was born to be here and now, chopping trees. 

Josh chops and chops until sunset, all the while whistling and concocting tunes in his mind. Effortlessly creative, he knows it's due to a blessing from his higher power. 

By the time the sky has turned purple, Josh has only toppled a few trees. Still, he walks on air all the way to his base, cursing only the darkness for quelling his progress. 

–

Josh dreams again, of the same sickening little patch of poppies. They quiver. Something crunches behind them. 

Josh's mouth feels dry, his limbs feel cold, but he chooses to investigate. He parts their stems with both hands. 

Behind them, there's a den of sorts, a little clearing. Inside this nook of gnarled roots and twisting, parasitic vines, Josh finds a deer. Its head is raised, its ears pert and curious. 

Josh lets out a shaky breath through his nostrils. 

The deer turns its head and goes to nibble at the corpse next to it. It tears loose a strip of pale skin

Josh stares and stares at the bloodied ribcage at the doe's feet. 

It shakes and moves, almost lifelike, as the doe nudges it, munching and munching, its snout stained from the feast.

Josh feels faint. His head spins. He falls backwards and jolts awake. 

–

Josh wakes with the sun. 

Despite his dark dreams, his thoughts are bright. He's on it again, ready to rush into working, getting started on his build, on realizing his dreams. 

His body won't let him jump out of the sleeping bag. 

Josh pulls himself up in slow motion, groaning as his muscles feel ragged and stiff from the hours and hours of chopping the day before. 

Dew drops of tears reach the corners of his eyes as he carefully plants a foot in the sand. 

He turns it over to find a ragged patch of molting skin and freshly sprouted blisters. 

Josh can't explain it. Josh can't fathom reason now, but the white heat of anger clouds his vision. 

“Fuck,” he spits, the angry tears falling. This isn't what he'd planned; he can't lose momentum now. He has to act now, he has to build his house now, he has to live a happy life now. All the moments spent in a lethargic, anhedonic fog come rushing back to him, only stoking the coals of his frustration. He's already wasted so much of his time. He needs to catch up, but his body won't comply.

He pulls and picks up the patchwork on his feet, scraping off old remains and plowing down the new pustules. Josh can't help himself, going over and over both soles until there's nothing left to dig into. The skin feels raw, but Josh feels soothed, cleansed. 

Despite all the protests in his bones, he climbs to his feet and gets dressed. 

Josh loops the axe into his belt and limps into the woods. Even though he feels like he's wading through molasses, with his muscles so stiff and his sores biting him with every step, he gets to work and chops until sundown. 

He clears a few more trees, less trees than the day before. He stews in his anguish quietly, not humming or whistling anymore.

This time, he chooses to bring a bundle of sticks back to camp with him. He feels more weathered than yesterday, angry at his physical limitations, but still optimistic. Lighting a fire will do his muscles wonders; surely, the heat will loosen them up. 

Josh prepares a foundation with crumpled notebook pages, adds kindling floorboards out of fine twigs, and finally, sturdy walls of thicker logs. He crowns the wood with a roof in the form of a copper pot he dug out of his kitchen before setting on his journey. 

He lights the fire, coaxes it to life, and pours a can of beans into the pot. 

While the texture reminds him of beady maggots, while the sauce feels too coagulated for his liking, Josh forces himself to slurp them up, knowing his body needs a little more fuel for the coming days of rugged building. 

Finally, he sleeps. 

–

Josh is frozen in place. He wants to gasp and scream and wiggle himself free from his invisible bindings, but he can barely breathe with the large, sopping mound on his chest. 

It's a lump of mud, illuminated by the moonlight. With the moon nearly full, he can see its every detail; every rock, every twig jutting out of it, and the gruesome way it seems to move. 

The lump quivers. The lump gurgles. 

The forest around them is quiet, no birds, no nocturnal creatures rustling in the underbrush. All Josh hears is the gurgling- a sickening, wet sound, like labored breath. He can feel it rattle in his chest.

Josh focuses on his pinky toe. With all his might, he forces it to wiggle.

Suddenly, his breath comes rushing back to him. He gasps and sputters, rolling off his sleeping bag and into the dirt. 

Each breath scatters the sand under his nose. 

As he clutches his chest to assure the apparition is gone, he finds streaks of mud. 

Josh pushes himself up into a sitting position and shakes his head, shakes his mind of the dream. 

Instead, he focuses on stoking the fire back to life. 

Sleep will be impossible now, he knows that, but he knows he's strong enough to not really need it. 

Josh tosses twigs into the fire and waits for dawn. 

–

By the light of the small fire, Josh managed to sketch out more floor plans, more crude drawing of quaint log cabins. It soothes him. 

Finally, when the forest around him starts to come to life with chirping birds and soft, grey light, he stands. He stretches himself tall and lean, doing his best to breathe life into his sore limbs. He swears he hears his bones creak, but pays no mind. Surely the fire aided in his recovery, but his lack of sleep canceled out the healing properties. Josh knows, though, that he's stronger than this. 

He knows he can do anything he sets his mind to.

Josh waddles over to the pond again, to wash his wounds and freshen up. 

He kneels down to dip his palm into the water again, but freezes when something catches his eye. 

Something squirms against his palm. Josh blinks and brings his nose closer, unsure if it's just a trick of the light. He squints, and his eyes focus on a wriggling maggot. 

Josh thrusts his hand into the water and stirs wildly, his heart pounding in his ears. He tastes bile on his tongue, but the nausea won't come, not really, with his stomach so empty from the days of spare appetites and distractions.

He pulls his hand out of the rippling pool, carefully, so carefully, but the maggot is still there. As he's staring, praying, his mouth agape in shock, another seems to materialize before his eyes. 

Josh raises his other, quivering hand, ready to grit his teeth and pick them off with force. 

He flicks the first ugly, squirming thing with his finger, but his nail pushes right through it. Like that, it disappears before his eyes. 

Josh bites his lip and stands quickly, returning to his pack. He dresses himself and laces up his boots with the steady mantra, “Nothing there, nothing there, there's nothing there” looping ceaselessly in his mind. 

Axe in his good hand, Josh stumbles into the woods and chops until he can't feel his hands at all. 

\--

Josh awakens to the sound of something scuttling into his ears. He tries to brush away the creature, probably just a misguided bug looking for a home. The faint rustling continues.

He sticks a finger into his ear and digs, but the rat gnawing on the wires inside his brain won't stop. 

Scuttling, scuttling, scuttling sounds continue and Josh digs into his ear until he hears the soft word, "Hello". 

He freezes and his breath leaves him. 

Something's pressing his back into the sleeping bag, into the sand beneath it. 

The campfire is dead, but the moonlight is as bright as ever. 

It reveals the arrival of another muddy apparition, this one less malformed and grotesque than the one from the night before. It almost looks human. 

Josh can't breathe. He feels faint, but musters the strength to wiggle his toes.

When nothing happens, when he's still pressed against the ground by the heavy sodden form above him, he starts to panic. 

The muddy apparition reaches calmly over his head and plucks a dried twig from the earthy bank above him. Josh starts to whimper. 

Unfazed, it plunges the twig into itself and cuts a clean line into its face. It grins with its freshly carved mouth, revealing a smile of crooked teeth. 

While Josh squirms and squirms, the creature digs the twig back into its mouth and scrapes a spider leg from between its teeth. 

Josh feels hot tears streak down the sides of his face. They pool into his ears. 

All of the tricks he learned to use to snap himself awake aren't working. 

He's not frozen in place by the tight ropes of sleep paralysis, no, he's pressed against the ground by something heavy and ghastly and all-too-real. 

The creature seems aware of this, of its power over him, and takes its time. 

In a voice more lyrical than expected, it says, “Hello.” 

Josh shakes his head. For the first time in days, his brain is still, even with the alarm bells of anxiety coursing through his body. 

“Why won't you speak?” the creature says. Josh continues to shake his head, darkening the sand beneath him with his tears. 

With its other appendage, the creature cups Josh's face. The touch feels tender, somehow, light and far warmer than Josh expected. It streaks mud and debris onto his face. A pill bug skitters over his eyebrow. 

“I want to see you,” the lump of mud says, and putting action behind intention, it digs the twig into the space on its face where eyes should go. One stab, another, and it tosses the twig aside. 

Josh can't tear his gaze away now. Somehow so human, the two golden brown eyes, revealed from beneath the mud, pierce into his own. 

Josh squints as an ant tries to cross the hollow of his eye socket. For a moment, the apparition him above him becomes blurred. In the haze of tears and eyelashes, it looks soft and round and young. 

“You're beautiful,” the creature, whispers, leaning closer into Josh's foggy vision. It presses a kiss, one that feels like rose petals, against his forehead. 

Josh sighs at the soft touch and his vision fades to black.

**Author's Note:**

> Um, I've been thinking about this story for months and months now. It's hard to put the images and ideas I'm trying to convey into words, so I've been hesitant about posting it, but... sometimes you have to do things that scare you, yeah? Hope you enjoy. <3


End file.
